I'd rather stay home. Forever.

Like pretty much everyone I know, I'm jonesing for a change of scenery. Travel will, of course, have to wait until I've gotten my shot(s), and I do have a confirmed appointment for Shot One in early March. 

I have one, because the other day, after experiencing the full clown show horror of trying to secure an appointment on Day One of the 65+ signup-palooza, I decided to glance around and see if anything was open. This was on Saturday afternoon. Nothing had been available in the morning. But when I decided to take another look, what to my wondering eyes did appear but two little appointments, one for me and one for my brother. 

But overall, the signup process in Massachusetts has been a clown show.

And speaking of clown shows, there's one place I know for sure that I won't be going when the travel curtain is lifted, and that's the Clown Motel in Tonopah, Nevada.

Even without the Clown Motel, I would not likely been drawn to Tonopah. All I know about it is that it's mentioned in the song Willin':

And I've been from Tucson to Tucumcari
Tehachapi to Tonopah
Driven every kind of rig that's ever been made
Driven the backroads so I wouldn't get weighed…

I'm most familiar with Linda Ronstadt's version, and, even though it's a trucker song, it's also one of my shower tunes. So the name "Tonopah" has tripped across my tongue many a time. Tonopah is - I checked - something of a tourist location. It was a silver mining center in the 19th century, and these days it's know as a good spot for stargazers. That's because it's a million miles from nowhere (i.e., 200+ miles from Las Vegas), so there are no big-city lights distracting from the view. 

As a city dweller, the idea of being able to enjoy a starry, starry night is appealing. Just not appealing enough to lure me to Tonopah. And the presence there of the Clown Motel is just the opposite, screaming as it does "Stay out of Tonopah!"

Here's what the Clown Motel has to say for itself:

It all started in 1985 when Leona and Leroy David built this motel in memory of their father Clarence David who died in the Belmont Mine Fire and is buried at the Old Tonopah Cemetery right next door. Their father who was a clown lover left a collection of 150 clowns in his home which they decided to use as the theme and focal point of their motel in memory of their father. The Clown Motel was named “America’s Scariest Motel” due to its clown theme and proximity to the cemetery where many miners were laid to rest due to the Tonopah-Belmont Mine Fire of 1911.

​Today our motel offers a little bit of something for everyone. It is home to over 2,000 clowns from every era and corner of the earth. Staying at the Clown Motel is a unique experience. All 31 of our rooms feature 2 to 3 custom clown art paintings along with air conditioning, heating, a refrigerator, and more. The Clown Motel is an experience you’ll never forget. We’ll do everything to make your stay comfortable, but what happens after dark is out of our hands….

"A little bit of something for everyone." Not really. That something for me would be no custom clown art whatsoever. 

And speaking of custom clown art, my mother had a hairdresser whose hobby was painting, and her niche was clown art. She gifted my mother with - or perhaps got my mother to pay her for her artwork - a hideous and colossally creepy (not to mention large) clown painting. Even my mother, who could have been voted Person Least Likely to Hurt Anyone's Feelings, relegated the picture to the basement after showcasing it for a brief time in the family room. 

Bad enough that the Clown Motel is dedicated to clowns. That would be plenty terrible and creepy enough. But it's also got scary clown and paranormal and horror movie vibes.

Theme rooms are named for films like The Exorcist and Friday the 13th. Some rooms come with an undoubtedly mythic backstory around the paranormal. Here's the promising way in which the description of one of my fave rooms starts out:

Not so long ago, motels were the best option for the elderly and terminally ill. One such elderly man was the Motel’s very own Front Desk Manager.

Personally, I have no recall of motels being "the best option for the elderly and terminally ill." 

I'm elderly, and a paranormal, clown-themed room would never be my best option. 

As for the terminally ill, before we checked in for a brief time at an actual home-away hospice, my husband spent the last couple of months of his life in home hospice. We did discuss trying to do wedge in a final quick trip to NYC, Jim's favorite place on earth, but he was just too ill. And I don't recall Jim's oncologist, the palliative care physician we were working with, or the hospice nurse who swung by our home for a regular visit, ever mentioning that tootling off to a motel was our "best option."

Maybe it's a Nevada thing.

Here's the rest of the fright room backstory:

One night he was staying in the Motel and became severely unwell. He picked up the phone to call the Front Desk – it rang and rang but no response. He called his sister who dialed 911 but it was too late. He died on his way to the hospital.

When questioned, the Front Desk Agent from that night said the phone never rang and even played back the surveillance footage – which proved the phone never rang. It was almost as though something was trying to stop his calls for help…..

Or maybe, in his final moments on earth, this guy was so out of it that he thought he'd dialed the front desk, and that the phone there "rang and rang."  But he actually didn't. 

Not to mention that, even if he'd successfully made the call to the front desk, what's to say that the arrival of the EMT's would have saved the day? Chances are that our friend, so elderly, so "severely unwell", would have died anyway.

In any case, how does this little story entice anyone to want to stay in that particular room?

Or any other room at the Clown Motel, for that matter. 

I don't think I'd want to do any browsing in the Clown Motel gift shop, either. 

Nothing there that makes me want to break out the old credit card and start spending up a storm. I'd rather spend my Tonopah time in the graveyard that abuts the motel, thank you very much.

This is beyond creepy, but I did come up with a situation in which I would stay there. I'm already elderly, but if and when I become terminally ill, and I'm told that my only option is the Clown Motel or any Trump-branded hotel, and I have to choose one, then the Clown Motel it is!

Other than that, I'd rather stay home. Forever.

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This post is dedicated to my sister Trish, who in comparison makes me look like a clown lover.